Tell Me Your Journey

Melissa,
in India,
do the flowers hang like coins
on the branches?
Cobras curl like baskets
in the hot dust?
The Upanishad glimmer
in the discourse of the people?
Does the West nibble
in the stalls of vendors
among plastic cups, cell phones,
the smell of saffron
and folded saris?

And what do you find
to put on your wrist?
Use to show the indelible colors
of the stones,
collect in your pocket
and put on your fingers.
In Nepal,
does a foggy shroud
hide Shangrila?

Does the vastness of the Himalayas
belittle the ocean?
Do the Yeti leave tracks
in the garden of the hotel?
And sherpas sign their autographs
for tourists?
Will the faces in the sunset there,
explain themselves in the sunrise here?
Have you found the edge
in your journey,
over the blue star of earth?